


One For The Devil On The Road

by blythechild



Series: Gift Stories 2012 [7]
Category: Criminal Minds, Supernatural
Genre: Drinking & Talking, First Meetings, Gen, Souls
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-28
Updated: 2012-12-28
Packaged: 2017-11-22 18:22:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,424
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/612826
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blythechild/pseuds/blythechild
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rossi's plans for a quiet drink are upset by the appearance of a man who claims to be the King of Hell.</p><p> </p><p>This is a work of fanfiction and as such I do not claim ownership over the characters herein. This story contains adult themes and language - it shouldn't be read by those under the age of 14.</p>
            </blockquote>





	One For The Devil On The Road

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RebaK1tten](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RebaK1tten/gifts).



> This story is related to "All The Sinners Grin When Your Great Disaster Falls", in which it was established that Reid and Crowley know one another. You do not have to read that story in order to understand this one.
> 
> Thanks to RebaK1tten for the prompt!

Rossi tossed his phone onto the bar top in disgust and contemplated the manifest evidence that the world was going to hell. He’d just been dumped via text message, complete with internet slang in lieu of full sentences. He tossed back the remainder of his 15 year-old Macallan, took a long draw from his cigar, and thought _that’s_ what you get for dating someone less than half your age. The upside was that he could stop dying his hair and overdosing on the Cialis now…

“Way to think positive, mate.”

The bar was quiet - it was always quiet which was why he came there so often - and the voice startled him. Halfway down the long oak bar sat a short man in an exquisite dark suit. On the bar stool next to him was the most gorgeous blonde Rossi had ever seen. The blonde was texting furiously as Dark Suit was casually stroking her thigh. Dark Suit jutted his chin out in greeting and lifted his own glass in a salute. Noticing that Rossi was dry, he waved a lazy finger at the bartender who swerved to refill Rossi’s glass as if on strings. Once they both had libation, Dark Suit raised his glass again and smiled.

“Birds, man. They’re glorious, but they’ll be the death of us all. Cheers.”

“I generally don’t accept drinks from strangers in bars.” Rossi raised an eyebrow at the odd little man.

“Oh, don’t be like that, darling - besides, you aren’t really my type anyway.”

“Yes, I can see that.” Rossi nodded towards Dark Suit’s proprietary hand on the indifferent blonde’s thigh.

Dark Suit looked down at his hand and then up into the blonde’s face. He smiled and the blonde’s eyes snapped to his in mid-sentence. Just as with the bartender, this man seemed to have an unnatural persuasion over his companion.

“Leave us alone, will you, dear?” He leaned in and gave the blonde an affectionate kiss. “Remember when you deliver my message to be polite. He’s still family after all…”

The blonde’s face contorted but Dark Suit silenced her with a dismissive wave, and she flipped her hair and stormed out of the bar without a backwards glance.

“Looks like I’m not the only one in the doghouse tonight.” Rossi mumbled to himself.

“She’s an employee.” Rossi’s head shot up as he realized that Dark Suit was suddenly sitting on the stool next to him. “She’s not my type either… filthy little demon that she is…”

Rossi took in Dark Suit from head to toe. The bespoke suit, the 40 year-old single malt that he swirled casually, the dismissive authority that he wore so lightly - this was a narcissistic sociopath who was very comfortable in his own skin. Rossi wondered what he had done to merit his attention. Dark Suit watched him as he made his analysis and then leaned forward, his hand outstretched.

“Now that you’ve profiled me, I suppose that introductions are in order. The name’s Crowley.”

“David Rossi.” He took Crowley’s hand.

“Yes, I know. Spencer speaks very highly of you and your many talents.”

_Interesting. Perhaps Reid is his type…_

“ _You_ know Spencer Reid.” It was a statement but a slightly incredulous one.

“Oh yes, we go way back. We’re almost family.”

“Forgive me, but that seems unlikely.”

“Truth is often stranger than fiction, Dave - may I call you Dave?” Crowley waved over the bartender again for refills. “Our precious Spencer has a lot going on beneath the surface. He’s a bit of a dark horse, that one…”

Crowley knocked back the two fingers of scotch as if it was water and turned his smile back on Rossi. “And just in case you were concerned for his honor, I’ve never fucked him. He has… appetites for stranger meat than me.”

A shiver slowly worked its way down Rossi’s spine. It had been quite a while since he had been really disturbed by someone, but Crowley had managed it. He dressed like a hired killer, spoke like a merchant marine, but had he taste and the restraint of someone with nothing but time on his hands. Rossi became keenly aware of the 9mm on his hip under his suit jacket and was glad that he had it.

“So, lemme guess… you two are gambling buddies…”

“Yes, you could say that.

Rossi smiled and sipped his scotch. “I’d hate to sit in on that game…”

“But you already are, Dave. Well, not ‘sitting in’ exactly… you’re part of the stakes this time ‘round…”

Rossi stopped smiling.

“I’ve gotta say, Crowley, you have a very disturbing conversational style…”

“My apologies, darling. Sometimes I enjoy the dance a bit too much.”

Crowley smiled again. Rossi decided to make the discomfort a little more even; he leaned in and stared Crowley down.

“I don’t care to dance - I prefer to be direct about how and when I’m going to get fucked.”

“Ooooohhhhhh, Spencer said that you had a bit of sharpness to you…” Crowley’s eyes twinkled. “Delightful.”

“What do you want?”

“I have a business proposition for you.”

“Really. And what business are you in?”

“Real estate speculation. A bit of apocalyptic assets management and security…”

“Defense contractor?”

“King of Hell. And Purgatory.”

Crowley whipped a card from his jacket pocket and slid it across the bar top towards Rossi. He was surprised to see that under Crowley’s name was “CEO, CFO and Creative Director, Hell. Regional President, Purgatory.”. Rossi’s eyebrows lifted in amazement at the thoroughness of Crowley’s delusion.

“Just Regional President of Purgatory?” He smirked.

“It’s a new acquisition. The leadership transfer has been… problematic to say the least.”

Rossi reached out to pick up the business card, his cigar smoldering between his fingers. Crowley snatched up the card before he could and waved it near the end of Rossi’s cigar where it poofed into a cloud of acrid-smelling smoke and ash.

“Sorry… sulfur’s a bitch.” Crowley grinned as his eyes flicked from brown to all black, and then back again.

Rossi pulled his hand away slowly. He tried to appear calm in every respect. Never let a predator see your fear, never let him sense your urge to flee…

“ _You_ know Spencer Reid.” He said again dumbly.

“For _ages_.” Crowley waved his hand like he was talking about a school buddy. “We destroyed Carthage together, we rode with Genghis Khan, we planted that ridiculous apocalypse myth with the Mayans… we were a great team back in the day… plus, we had bloody great fun as well.”

Crowley smiled as his eyes seemed to fix on the middle distance for a moment. Then he shrugged slightly and leaned in towards Rossi as if the two were old friends sharing secrets.

“But he’s gotten all independent-minded suddenly. He went and tamed himself a pet. He thinks that he can change the game plan all on his own. He thinks that he’s a king up here… he’s going to ‘save the world’…” Crowley used his fingers to make air quotes while almost gagging on the words themselves. “He’s gone a little too native for my comfort. That’s where you come in.”

Rossi felt breathless and disembodied. His cigar slowly smoldered between his fingers - the growing heat proving that he wasn’t dreaming. His profiling skills took over, prompting him to ask another question. _Keep ‘em talking… they always undo themselves when they talk…_

“I don’t see how. If you are who you say you are, I doubt that you need anyone.”

“You’re right about that, darling.” Crowley snapped his fingers and everything in the bar _stopped_. Rossi stared at the bartender and his pint glass frozen in mid-pour. He looked at his hands and watched as they flexed and the cigar continued to smoke between his fingers.

“It’s a bit of a parlor trick, but it grabs one’s attention.” Rossi looked up into Crowley’s smiling face but he noted that the man’s eyes were deadly serious. For all of his blithe manners, Crowley was on a mission and it appeared that his patience was wearing a bit thin. “I’m not a head case, Dave - I need you to focus. This is real.”

“You have my complete attention.”

“Lovely!” Crowley clapped his hands together in congratulations. “You see, as it turns out, being the King of Hell and Purgatory requires a lot of micro-managing… demons, as you might well imagine, aren’t terribly trustworthy. I can’t leave the shop for too long before they start discounting the merchandise and setting it on fire.”

Rossi must have looked confused because Crowley waved his hands in the air dismissively. “That’s neither here nor there at the moment. The point is that I’ve let certain things go unattended up here and folks have started taking matters into their own hands… starting to believe that they are unique and special snowflakes rather than _the employees_ that they are.”

“I’m assuming that you are referring to Spencer here. That’s why you want me - for my perceived influence over him - correct?”

“I love dealing with college graduates.” Crowley purred and stroked the bar top idly. “You don’t have to show them the stick before you throw it… I want you, Dave - it’s true - but I’m willing to pay.”

Crowley licked his lips and Rossi felt something cold blow through him as if he wasn’t there. He remembered the cigar between his fingers - now almost burnt down to the knuckle - and stubbed it out in an ashtray on the bar. It went inert and silent the moment it left his fingers. He looked at the frozen smoke trail leading up from the ashtray and wondered if this is what God felt like.

“There is no God, mate. There’s only me.”

_Great. He can read minds too._

Crowley shrugged and gave Rossi an ‘I can’t help it’ smile. It almost looked innocent.

“What if I’m not for sale?”

“Dave, Dave, Dave…” Crowley shook his head slowly. “Firstly, everyone’s for sale, love, and secondly, this is a done deal - I’m just negotiating terms here.”

“What do you mean?”

“You’ve been a baaaaaad boy, Dave.” Crowley winked. “I know what you did in Saigon in ’71… I know what you did in Brooklyn in ’87, and again in Newark in ’92. I know what you were going to do to your first wife… but she beat you to it, didn’t she?”

Rossi leaned forward as his hand unconsciously moved to rest on the bulge over his right hip.

“Oops, struck a sensitive spot, did I? Sorry, sometimes I get a little carried away with the sales pitch… what it all boils down to is that there’s a checkmark beside your name already and the people who make that kind of decision don’t tend to revisit them all that often. Eventually we’re going to be neighbors - I’m just here doing some advanced recruiting is all.”

“You’re saying…” Rossi lost his voice and had to clear his throat before continuing. “You’re saying that I’m going to Hell?”

“No, I’m saying: You’re going to Hell!” Crowley raised his tumbler - now miraculously full again - in celebration. “I’m the Welcome Wagon.”

Rossi sagged against the bar. “I’m screwed…”

“We’ll get to that later.” Crowley waggled his eyebrows and smiled as he sipped his scotch. “Don’t be so negative… do you think that I come up here to claim every damned soul? Christ, I’ve just told you that my schedule is more crammed than a whorehouse during shore leave…” 

Rossi noticed that Crowley had stopped talking and the silence forced him to look up again. He half hoped that this had all been some elaborate psychotic break or something. He looked around the oddly frozen bar and then scrubbed his face wearily. It had come to this: he would rather be insane than damned.

“Harsh. I’m gonna ignore that you just thought that.” Crowley’s face aped mock dismay and then he leaned forward so that he was uncomfortably close to Rossi. “You are _important_ , Dave, get it?”

“How?”

“So glad you asked. You have access to Spencer - that’s first and foremost. I need regular updates about him and what he’s doing… I won’t have a millennia-old plan cocked up because the selfish bugger has fallen ‘in love’…” 

Again, Crowley mocked his words with air quotes and a disgusted look on his face. 

“But more importantly, you’re going to become an excellent demon, Dave. You’re intelligent, resourceful, unopposed to violence, and you have a charming way of manipulating people. Oh, and then there’s all of the profiler stuff on top of that. Basically, you remind me of a much younger, less skilled _me_ , and I LIKE that in a recruit. You wouldn’t believe the dregs that I’ve been forced to deal with since I took charge… but that’s the nature of an inherited position, I guess. The staffing headaches are just the beginning… it’s hard to get folks to think outside the box when they haven’t seen daylight in four thousand years… I thought that Spencer would be my right hand through all of this, but now that I’ve seen the lay of the land, I think that you’d be much better suited to the job…”

Rossi let Crowley ramble on without him. All he had wanted that evening was a quiet drink and a nice roll in the hay with a pretty woman. Instead, he had had a paradigm-altering conversation in the epitome of a ‘dead’ bar and discovered that his life - for all intents and purposes - was over and that he was destined for Hell. There wasn’t enough booze or tail on the planet to make him feel better now. The darkness, the loneliness that he had pushed back against all of his adult life had been real and waiting for him all along. It wasn’t a metaphor or some psychological illusion - it had a name and a plan and it was sitting next to him drinking scotch like some regular Joe Barfly. Maybe T.S. Eliot had been right: the world would end with the whimper that comes with the sudden realization of an unassailable truth. 

“Oh no, they’ll be fireworks… they’ll be blood. I promise you that.”

Rossi looked at Crowley who was staring at him with renewed interest.

“I’m not as bad as you think I am, Dave. I’m certainly not as hollow as Lucifer was.”

Rossi raised his eyebrows in an unspoken question. Crowley shook his head and smiled ruefully.

“The future is a moving target, mate - there is no certainty, only possibility. I have been surprised more than once… I’ve seen determination trump all, and in the unlikeliest of people to boot…”

Crowley tapped his lips in thought. “That’s why I need you: you’ve got determination coming out of your arse, and you’re unpredictable too. You can’t train _that_ , and I don’t want it flayed out of you either before I have a chance to tap those skills…”

“What does _that_ mean?”

“I’m telling you that you can skip basic training and go directly to R.O.T.C.* instead. I’m giving you the tools and the access, darling… You don’t like your fate? Change it. That’s what I did. Don’t assume because you’ve heard of my mailing address that you have any idea what I’m about or what I want to accomplish.” Crowley offered Rossi his hand. “Give Hell a chance, mate.”

Rossi looked down at Crowley’s open hand. It looked like any other hand… so _normal_ …

“Listen, you can do a lot in a lifetime if you don’t burn out too fast**, Dave. What you do with the rest of your _life_ is up to you - I just want you for my team after that. I’ll even give you a signing bonus.”

“A what?” Rossi chuckled with disbelief.

“It’s a pretty standard demon contract thing: you get one wish for your soul.” Crowley took a big swig of scotch and then raised a finger and waved it around lazily. “And none of that wishing for more wishes or wishing to go to heaven instead or wishing for immortality stuff… I’ve been at this a long time - evasions won’t work, they’ll just piss me off. You’re going to Hell. What do you want in return?”

Rossi looked at Crowley and then rubbed his hand over his face and shrugged. “What do people usually ask for?”

“Mostly the banal: fame, fortune, a bigger cock… One broad asked me to resurrect her Shih Tzu… another guy wanted to be on the set of _The Godfather: Part II_ , don’t ask me why…”

“You can travel in time?

“Only to the past, and it’s a bit dodgy… I can’t allow you to alter the present by going back in time, so don’t ask. Also, yes, I can bring people back from the dead, but only if they are one of my tenants in the first place, if you catch my drift.” Crowley scrutinized Rossi for a hard second and then leaned in and lowered his voice. “I can bring her back, Dave. You can have the life that you once imagined might be possible. No more indifferent co-eds breaking up with you via emoticons, no more loneliness even in a crowd of people…”

“Shut up.”

“I’m just giving you your options.” Crowley shrugged. “Full disclosure, darling.”

As soon as Crowley had mentioned it, Rossi knew that he had decided. He already had so much, he understood the hunger to acquire and achieve, but he was also old enough to know that those things were hollow at their core. If you were going to sell your soul, make the price astronomical. He squared Crowley with a critical eye. The demon was smiling - he couldn’t hide his heart’s one wish from a telepathic immortal used car salesman and he knew it. Rossi was willing to bet that Crowley could read body language as well as he could. Crowley nodded his head knowingly.

“Well, there’s nothing left to do but seal the deal.” Crowley let his hand drift and rest gently on Rossi’s thigh. “You’re gonna love this part. I’ll even throw in some tongue, no extra charge…”

\----

Rossi burst through the door and out into the late night bustle of downtown Washington. It was drizzling, which fit his mood, and he hoped that it would wash the smell of Crowley’s cologne and smug satisfaction away as well. He decided that hope was not something that he was going to relinquish along with everything else. ‘Where’s there’s life, there’s hope’, his Nanna had once said… _You can do a lot in a lifetime if you don’t burn out too fast…_

He turned up the collar of his coat and watched the traffic slice through the rain. It struck him as absurdly beautiful; the wet shushing sound of tires on asphalt, the crazy trails of light that the passing cars made in the street puddles, even the grit of smog that coated his breath seemed refreshing and novel. He shook his head at his foolishness, water droplets sprinkling his face as he pulled his phone from his coat pocket. _Stupid, soulless old fart…_ Three missed messages: a ‘hey, what’s up’ text from Seaver in California, a voicemail from Hotch, and a missed call from Reid’s number. Rossi frowned, selected Reid’s message, and began to type.

_\-- We need to talk. --_

He pressed SEND. Boy, that was the understatement of the year… His phone buzzed in his hand. He looked down and saw an incoming call from a number that he himself had disconnected nine months earlier. His thumb shook a little as he accepted the call.

“Hello?” His voice cracked and he turned away from traffic as he cradled the phone closer to his ear. “It’s okay… I know. Tell me where you are. Okay… yes, I know… I know… please don’t cry, baby, I’m gonna explain everything when I get there, okay? Just don’t move - I’ll be there soon. Promise… okay… I love you, Carolyn***… I’m coming.”

The call ended and Rossi stared at his phone in disbelief. Damn Crowley - he had kept his end of the bargain. It was going to make things that much harder… But he didn’t have time to think about that now. He walked to the edge of the sidewalk and flagged down a cab; she was waiting for him and there was no time to waste. Once he was assured that she was real, and perhaps after he’d had a frank talk with Reid, he’d decide what to do about the dapper little demon that he had on his back.

**Author's Note:**

> 1\. R.O.T.C. = Reserve Officers’ Training Corps.
> 
> 2\. “You can do a lot in a lifetime if you don’t burn out too fast” - a lyric from _Marathon_ by Rush.
> 
> 3\. Carolyn Rossi was David’s first wife who committed suicide in season 7.


End file.
